


Live with the dark (but don't forget the light)

by charimiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, Derek POV, M/M, briefly considered naming this we found love in a hopeless place, cause he is in the show, oh yeah, they live in a supermarket, why is derek always so emotionally damaged in my writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charimiel/pseuds/charimiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surprisingly, Derek's world doesn't end with the apocalypse. It just takes him a while, and a few pointers, to realise that.<br/>The one where they survive the apocalypse, and eternal optimist Stiles and forever pessimist Derek overcome their differences in a supermarket seasonal aisle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live with the dark (but don't forget the light)

They meet in a makeshift camp, 300 or so people camped out in an old supermarket, trying to cling on to some sort of normalcy. Before, Derek might’ve romanticised it, called it fate. But now fate seems like a pretty shitty explanation for anything

The other guy is infuriatingly cheerful, considering it’s the end of all things. Maybe he’s high, Derek thinks absently, not really caring. When the world’s ending, what harms a little class a substance gonna do really?

“Have you heard? Scott got it on the radio, the researchers have finally figured out what caused all this!” The kid seems genuinely excited, and Derek just raises an eyebrow. “If they know what caused it, then they’re one step closer to fixing it dude!” the guy clarifies, clearly assuming Derek’s an idiot or something.

“We caused this. I could’ve told you that two months ago. They won’t fix it.”

“What’re you talking about? They’re gonna fix this, they have to.”

God, this kid just doesn’t give up.

“Look kid. This isn’t some action movie, where in the end some guy saves the planet from ruin, gets the girl, and then conveniently forgets about us collateral. We fucked up our planet, and there’s no going back. Live with it. Or don’t, it’s not like it matters anymore.”

The kid reels back, like he’s been physically slapped, brown eyes wide ad angry.

“I’m not a kid. I’m 25, asshole, and having a little hope doesn’t make me a dumb child.”

“If you think there’s any way back from this, you’re a kid to me. What you have isn’t hope, it’s a delusion.” Derek scoffs. Another time, he might’ve outright laughed in the guy’s face, but he hasn’t laughed since the day the fires came and the sky fell. He’s not starting now.

“What happened to you to make you so defeatist then?” he gets as a reply, defiant anger sparking hot and bright in brown eyes, body language hostile but proud.

“The world ended. Weren’t you there?” Derek mocks, then turns around and walks away before the guy can get another disgustingly optimistic word in.

He ignores the yell of “asshole!” that follows him.

…

Derek isn’t avoiding the kid. He isn’t.

So maybe he’s developed a habit of hiding around corners whenever he catches a glimpse of brown eyes, moles and messy hair in his peripheral vision.

That doesn’t mean he’s avoiding anyone.

Derek doesn’t avoid anyone, he avoids everyone.

Except that he doesn’t really.

Okay, so maybe he’s been avoiding the guy. He can’t deal with that much optimism in one space, it’s sickening.

In his head, he hears the ghost of Laura mocking him. ‘Too much optimism, really Derek, that’s what you’re going with?’

He’d tell Laura-in-his-head to shut up, but he hasn’t heard her voice in too long, he couldn’t handle losing her from his head as well as from reality. Yes, he’s aware he’s delusional. It’s how he copes. Well, he doesn’t cope, but he’s trying, alright.

But anyway. He’s been doing that thing. With the avoiding. Because delusional idiots are a thing he hates. Of course. Never mind that he’s a delusional idiot too, at least he’s a realistic delusional idiot.

What he’s not expecting, is to turn around at the sound of a throat being cleared right behind him to see the guy standing there. Seriously, how did he manage to sneak up on him? And what’s he holding? Is that…

“Soup?” the guy asks, holding the bowl out to Derek boldly, like Derek hadn’t insulted everything he believed in the first and only time they met. “I’m Stiles by the way.” He adds, and Derek makes a face.

“Stiles?” He can hear the judgement in his own voice, but doesn’t really care enough to soften it. This guy- Stiles- sought Derek out; he has to deal with him.

“Nickname. And don’t give me another of your judgy glares; it’s not some trendy apocalypse nickname thing. It’s a ‘never name a child something unpronounceable then let him pick his own name’ thing.”

Derek just stares at him. When he doesn’t say anything, Stiles moves like he’s going to walk off, pulling the soup back towards him, and that’s just not acceptable. The guy may be a pain in the ass, but that soup smells like heaven.

“Derek.” He offers, reaching out to take the bowl before it’s completely out of reach. “I’d ask if this was poisoned, but at this point, I’m not entirely sure I’d mind.”

“Wow, you really are depressingly pessimistic, aren’t you?”

“It’s the apocalypse Stiles; I’m allowed some healthy realism”

 “You’re clearly no believer in the whole ‘there is always hope’ thing.”

“Hope is for children and fools.”

“And we’ve reached the same point again. Great talk Derek, let’s do it again sometime.” Stiles says, turning around and walking away, echoing the way Derek walked off the first time they met. Derek watches him go, and it’s weird. Definitely weird. What is with this guy? Stiles is the kind of person he would normally avoid like death itself.

‘Lighten up baby bro!’ Laura-in-his-head instructs, and he scowls at her words.

…

The thing with living in a small group is that there is absolutely no way to hide from people. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows him as the Hale guy. He’s notorious in the camp; he’s the defeatist asshole who hangs around in dark corners far too much. At least people leave him alone.

Sometimes though, he thinks he doesn’t like being alone all the time. It’s his own fault- he’s the one who deliberately scared everyone off. But he’s still human, and he still gets lonely, okay.

Maybe that’s why; when Stiles next comes up to him, he doesn’t even bother offering any kind of complaint. He doesn’t tell him he wants to be alone, because that would be an obvious lie, even to Stiles who barely knows him.

They sit next to each other on the dusty floor in Derek’s aisle. He’d claimed what clearly used to be the seasonal aisle when the group of people he’s tagged along after had decided to set up a camp here. People left him alone- there was nothing in the aisle of any use left after he’d thrown all the sleeping bags out to the group, so no one came to gather supplies.

“Is it weird that this feels normal now?” Stiles asks out of the blue, after they’ve sat in (somehow companionable? Derek will analyse that one later) silence for a while. “I mean, I miss civilisation and all, but it feels like someone else’s life y’know, like I’ve changed too much.”

“The apocalypse does do that to a person. Y’know, change them.”

“You are such a snarky asshole. I’m honestly not sure if it pisses me off, or makes me want to hug you, you cynical bastard.”

“I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that”

“Just ignore me, I say stuff a lot. Most of it makes no sense. Most of the guys here are used to it by now.”

It’s silent for a few minutes, just the sound of talking from somewhere else in the building echoing, far enough away that Derek can’t make out words.

“I don’t think I’d be able to go back. “Stiles admits quietly, when the silence between them is just starting to get stifling.

“Why are you telling me this?” Derek can’t help but ask. Stiles just chuckles.

“Because you’re not gonna judge me for being pessimistic once in a while. I like having hope, but sometimes you’ve gotta indulge in a bit of self-pity y’know? Not as much as you do though, there’s this thing called balance. You should give it a go.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Good.”

Stiles hangs round for a little longer, and Derek finds himself enjoying the company. He pulls a battered set of card out from somewhere, and deals them out, and they sit in comfortable silence, broken every now and then by a competitive bickering as they play rummy on the aisle floor.

…

The worst thing about living in essentially a refugee camp is that the food is always the same. Soup or bland pasta.

Okay, so obviously that’s not the worst thing. Their whole situation is utterly shit. But the food is still the thing that annoys him most at least. He’s 28, but he feels like he’s back in high school, being served the same food as everyone else. He misses having control.

He’s not going to analyse why he felt kinda warm inside when Stiles brought him soup. It was clearly just because he didn’t have to head to the main area and collect it like a goddamned high-schooler.

‘Are you actually this dumb, or do you just hate being happy?’ Laura-in-his-head asks, and he ignores her.

He’s in the main area, fetching his daily allowance of plain bland pasta (because they have to conserve the food they have, Derek knows this, he can still complain about it alright), when he sees Stiles sitting at a table with a guy and girl from camp that he’s never spoken to before. Stiles hasn’t seen him, and he finds himself staring at the way Stiles’s hands move as he talks. He’s never still for a moment, bright and alive and so out of place.

He’s been staring for what is definitely longer than any sane person would deem socially acceptable, when Stiles looks up, and locks gazes with him. And then grins, like he’s actually happy to see Derek. Which is a completely ridiculous idea. What?

“Derek!” Stiles yells over at him, then waves like he wants Derek to come over there, and- what? Okay, so there might be a genuine possibility that Stiles actually is happy to see Derek. Which is obviously a stupid life choice for anyone to make, but Derek can’t talk about stupid life choices.

And speaking of life choices- apparently he’s heading over there to talk to Stiles, because he definitely didn’t consciously make the decision to move, but he’s already halfway across the eating area.

“Hey dude! I was starting to think you never actually left your aisle! This is Scott, the one with the radios.” Stiles gestures at the guy next to him, all goofy smiles and floppy brown hair. “And this is his fiancée, Allison.”

Allison smiles sweetly at him. “Hi, nice to meet you, you must be Derek right?”

He grunts out a “yeah” and then stands there awkwardly, because what the hell is he doing here?

“Sit down already” Stiles sighs. “Pretend to hate the world all you like, but you totally like being around people dude, otherwise you would’ve punched me already.”

Stiles is sort of scarily perceptive. Derek sits down, because he’s completely right. If Stiles really bothered him, he’d probably have punched him the first time they met.

‘You totally like him, don’t you! Oh my god, someone pierced the Derek hale tough guy exterior, call the press.’

Maybe he killed someone in a past life. A hell of a lot of someones. Maybe he was an evil dictator. There’s no other explanation for why else he’d be suffering through the apocalypse whilst being teased by his dead sister inside his own head about his emotions.

“You look tired man.” Stiles says quietly, and he looks up. Scott and Allison have gone, and he frowns at the spaces where they were. He’s not entirely sure he didn’t make them up; it’s not like he’s the epitome of mentally secure and sane. Stiles notices, and explains “They went off to a back room; I don’t even want to know. I thought they were disgusting before this whole thing when they had all the time in the world. They’re just plain insufferable now. Anyway. You, tired, why?”

Derek actually laughs. A short bark of a laugh sure, but it’s something. “It’s the apocalypse, and you’re asking why I look tired?”

“You really are stuck on that whole apocalypse thing. You can’t just give up on the world and then say ‘it’s the apocalypse’ every time anyone calls you out on something. Just talk to me dude. I’ll totally listen; I’d be an awesome therapist.”

“Your patients wouldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

“Shut up, I’m a great listener. And you’re avoiding.”

“I haven’t been sleeping. There. Answered your dumb question.”

Stiles looks at him, gaze scarily assessing, and he maybe wants to run, and hide in his aisle. About a minute passes, before Stiles lets the moment fly away, grinning wildly and pulling out the cards again.

“Wanna head back to your aisle?”

…

So they play cards. They play cards a lot, there’s not much else to do apparently. Eventually, they get bored, and Stiles starts bringing other things he finds in random aisles. A chess set which is banned after one game, because Derek is terrible at chess and Stiles is apparently some kind of chess master, and according to Stiles the growling and death threats just aren’t worth it. A small ball that they throw between them, talking whilst absently playing catch. A quiz book on Canadian culture (which- just why?).

One day, Stiles brings a battered copy of ‘the sight’ and Derek raises an eyebrow at him sceptically.

“Shut up, it may be a kid’s book but its good man. Just give it a chance, you’ll totally love it”

Stiles sits down a little closer to Derek than he ever has before, and opens the book to the first page. He clears his throat, and begins “In the beginning was a castle high on a craggy precipice…” Stiles’s voice is calm, and familiar, as he weaves the threads of the story, of wolf packs and legends.

It could be minutes, or hours later, that Derek’s eyes flutter open. He doesn’t remember closing them, doesn’t remember when he stopped listening to the story and simply let himself listen to Stiles’s voice, but it must’ve happened, because Stiles is leaning back against the aisle shelf, one hand curled around the book, and the other resting on Derek’s leg, and his eyes are closed.

They must’ve moved closer at some point, because Stiles is pressed up against Derek’s side, and the warmth is comforting but terrifying. It hits him suddenly, that he’s gotten fond of Stiles, actually likes the guy, and it feels like drowning. He can’t handle losing another person close to him, not after the fires took everything and everyone he had, but he’s let Stiles in without even realising it, and it’s so dangerous. He gently lifts Stiles’s hand off his leg, and stands.

He walks to the doors, ignoring the warning sign that someone had rather pointlessly stuck up. Everyone already knows what the outside is like. He opens the door anyway, and slips outside.

Its night-time, or he thinks it is. He could be wrong; the whole world is so dark all the time. This feels like night darkness though, rather than oppressive darkness. It’s even worse than he remembers, ash and dust and the dead husks of trees.

He stands there for too long, just staring out, lost in the dark. It feels like hours pass, before he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Come inside.” Stiles says, and he obeys. He couldn’t say no if he wanted to, not to Stiles, not anymore.

They walk back inside, and Stiles pulls him down to the floor of the aisle again, rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Stop thinking asshole. Go to sleep.” It’s warm, and fond, and fuzzy, and Stiles reminds him so fiercely of Laura in that one moment that he almost wants to cry. He doesn’t, instead he leans into Stiles’s warmth, accepts the comfort as it’s given, and lets himself sleep for a little while longer.

…

Eventually Stiles just moves all his stuff into Derek’s aisle. It’s too much, and not enough, at the same time, and Derek finds himself staring at Stiles again, like he used to when they first knew each other, trying to figure him out.

“I still don’t get you.” He blurts one day, as Stiles combs hands through Derek’s hair where it rests on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles just looks down at him, fond and warm and- oh. Huh.

“Yeah you do.” Stiles says, and pats Derek on the head before carrying on reading.

…

So Derek might be a little bit in love with Stiles.

This is... well, Derek would say it’s an unexpected development but, if he thinks about it, it’s really not. Stiles is warm, and safe, and apparently everything Derek has ever wanted, and it’s terrifying but exhilarating.

Nothing changes with Derek’s realisation of this. They still spend all their time together. They still talk, and play games, and read, and confess horribly personal things to each other. But now, every time Derek offers something horribly personal up, he doesn’t need to spend hours obsessing over ‘why the hell did he say that, what the fuck’ because he already knows why.

He doesn’t tell Stiles though. Doesn’t want to change this, to risk what they have already, because Derek needs it so much. He’s addicted, can barely remember shouldering the weight alone. Some might tell him to seize the moment, but Derek never was one for just going for things. Laura-in-his-head calls him an idiot, but it’s fond, and he thinks maybe she gets it.

…

There’s been silence from the radio for months. They still try it daily, flick through all the frequencies in the hope that maybe one of them will tell them something, anything. But it’s silent, and the mood in the camp is defeated.

So the radio is silent, and they are alone. Stiles still refuses to give up hope though, no matter how many times Derek, and other camp members tell him he should. Derek remembers a time when he was the only pessimist in their camp. Now, it feels like Stiles is the only optimist.

It’s a well-worn argument between them, Derek’s given up trying to tell Stiles it’s hopeless, because if he feels better with hope, then why not let him hope.

Stiles brings the radio back to their aisle one day, and it’s their aisle now, not Derek’s. They maybe missed a few steps in normal relationship progression, but the world’s already ended. No one cares if they live together already, despite the fact they’re still dancing around whatever this thing is between them.

He puts the radio on a shelf, and Derek looks at him for a moment, but he gets it. Everyone else may have given up, but Stiles clearly refuses to. It’s admirable. Delusional, but admirable.

…

They’re nearly out of food, and mutiny is running through the camp. It feels like this little fragile world they’ve built for themselves could collapse at any moment. He used to keep count of how long since the fires, but he gave up weeks ago.

…

The radio is silent.

…

Until it’s not.

It’s been half a year since he started living here, and in one second it all comes crashing down in the best way.

“Go outside. Look up. We can heal now” are the words issuing from the radio, and Derek would mock the stupid young-adult romance novel phrasing of the whole thing, but he’s too busy being dragged to the doors by Stiles, and when he pushes them open, drags Derek out with him, it’s blinding.

The shy is clear, for the first time in months, the sun is above them, and Stiles is laughing. The rest of the camp starts to follow them outside, and suddenly it’s loud and people are yelling and screaming, and celebrating, and there’s sky above his head for the first time in what feels like too many lifetimes, but he can’t look at it, can’t take his eyes off Stiles’s face in the sun, how he looks as he laughs.

‘It’s over Derek. Time to move on.’ He hears Laura whisper, and then he knows in that instant that she’s gone, that he won’t hear her anymore, but it doesn’t feel like losing anything like he thought It would. It feels like something new, like the first day of spring after the longest hardest winter.

“I told you so!” Stiles shouts, voice infectiously happy and he’s grinning right at Derek, and he’s so fucking beautiful that Derek doesn’t even think before grabbing him, and just kissing him like he’s wanted to for months.

There’s a sigh against his mouth when he pulls back, a muttered “finally” from Stiles, an then he’s being hauled back in, pressed up against Stiles and kissing him like the worlds ending because it’s not, the world’s not ending anymore, and he’s alive, they’re both alive.

He knows the future will be hard, and terrifying. The world isn’t going to suddenly go back to how it was before. But in this moment, he doesn’t care, doesn’t need anything more than what he has. He has Stiles, and the sun, and he has hope.

What else could he need?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So. This fic is the longest finished fic I've written for teen wolf, and coincidentally the longest thing I've written in possibly 2 years. I hope you enjoyed it, this is the product of my procrastination from revision (oh god exams so soon).  
> I wrote half of this at 1 am in an old science book in the dark, so it might not make any sense.  
> Also, if you haven't read The Sight, you totally should, it's not really a kid's book I promise. it's about a wolf pack and a prophecy, and its by David Clement-Davies, and it's utterly awesome trust me.  
> [Come say hey, I need people to sob with about character development and my poor babies](http://charimiel.tumblr.com)


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